


Independent 29 - Better Left Unspoken

by Aadler



Series: Independent Stories [29]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 08:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15288039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aadler/pseuds/Aadler
Summary: Season: Third (Buffy) and barely dipping into FourthSpoiler(s): “the Freshman” (S4-01)Teaser: Missing moments, and growing changes.





	Independent 29 - Better Left Unspoken

  
**Banner by[SRoni](http://sroni.livejournal.com)**

**Better Left Unspoken**  
by Aadler  
**Copyright July 2018**

* * *

Disclaimer: Characters from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, the WB, and UPN.

* * *

This story was done for the 2018 round of [Summer of Giles](http://summer_of_giles.dreamwidth.org).

* * *

_i – Revelations_

The ‘intervention’ in the library was over. The others had been surprised, and not especially pleased, when Giles cut it short and sent them off. He had in turn been displeased, but not especially surprised, when Buffy followed him into his office, and had dismissed her even more brusquely. This was not the time, Angel’s return — while a terrible shock — was a distraction from matters more important just now. The matter _would_ have to be addressed, couldn’t simply be swept under the carpet, but … this was not the time.

He pulled open the desk drawer, looked at the bottle of scotch that he kept for such stringent circumstances, then sighed and closed the drawer again. Later, perhaps, just now there were things to do. He had spoken of destroying the Glove of Mynhegon (assuming it could be found), and he was not at all sure that any such thing was possible —

A slight sound at the door had him turning, savage words rising to his lips, if Buffy had disregarded his wishes _again …!_ No, it wasn’t Buffy. Standing just outside his office, looking uncertain, was Cordelia. Instantly readjusting what otherwise would have been a quite harsh expression and tone, he tilted his head toward her and said, “Yes?”

Cordelia stepped inside slowly, as if reluctant, visibly trying to decide what to say, and Giles’s heart sank. Instead of what he might have feared, however, she observed hesitantly, “You went a lot easier on her than I expected.”

Giles shook his head. “A tirade would have been satisfying, perhaps, but counterproductive, and we have more important matters facing us at the moment.”

Cordelia made an impatient _tchh!_ sound. “No, I get that. But when she followed you in here … Aren’t Slayers supposed to be, like, naturally tactically aware? ’cause that was _totally_ asking for you to go off.” She regarded him with eyes that were partly puzzled, partly troubled. “But you didn’t. Go off on her, I mean. I’m glad, but it … wasn’t what I was expecting.”

Giles sighed again. “For that matter, you yourself were less, er, less incisively critical of her, during our meeting just past, than I would have anticipated if I had thought about it.”

She waved that away. “I’ve got my own issues where Angel is concerned, don’t you doubt that for a minute. But he didn’t torture me for fun, and he didn’t kill somebody I loved, _also_ for fun …” She broke off, biting her lip. “Are you okay? We’ve taken some hits lately, and I just, just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

There were many ways he could have responded to that, and too many of those would have led them into irrelevancies or areas of distinct hazard. Focusing on the immediate question, he said carefully, “I would have hoped for better from Buffy; I  _did_ hope for better, and I won’t stop pushing for it. But we’re all human, which means we all fall short, at … at least occasionally.” He shrugged. “She isn’t perfect. None of us are. We do our best regardless.”

Cordelia seemed less than totally reassured. “So, you’re good?” she asked, sounding doubtful.

Giles forced a smile; small, polite, noncommittal. “I am in control, and focused, and inclined neither toward self-destruction nor toward violent rage. Will that do for now?”

“I guess.” This time she was the one to sigh. “I’m … I’m glad you’re okay.”

Giles nodded. “Thank you, Cordelia. Was there anything else?”

She shook her head, turned, and left. Giles went to the door and pushed it closed, then looked back at his desk, once more thinking longingly of the bottle of scotch —

No. This wasn’t the time for that.

It most definitely was not the time.

  
_ii – Lovers Walk_

Cordelia was waiting at the reception area when Giles came out into the hospital lobby; she looked up, her expression strained, so he went straight to her. “It’s as we expected,” he told her. “Mild concussion, so they’re holding him overnight for observation, to be certain, but there’s no cause for alarm at the moment.” He paused, unsure of how to proceed, then offered, “As we’ve seen, Xander is, er, resilient.”

Cordelia’s mouth compressed into a bitter line. “He’s gonna need it.”

A great deal was not being said, nor needed to be. Giles adjusted his eyeglasses, cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked. “That I caught my loser boyfriend cheating on me with the class nerd?” She laughed harshly. “God, don’t you just _love_ the irony?”

“I, er …” He shook his head, and his tone firmed while remaining gentle. “I’m sorry you found out so unexpectedly, in such a painful fashion. The only consolation is that, so far, the knowledge is held only by those who … who have the least desire to embarrass you.”

“Right!” she spat. “Because this isn’t anywhere _near_ mortifying enough!” Giles stiffened, in wariness rather than fear, and she shook her head. “Don’t worry, I was able to keep my cool when we found them in Foreplay Position in the factory, so I won’t be making a scene here. I just wanted to be positive he wasn’t going to die or anything, because then I’d have to be all grief-y instead of furious.”

“Ah,” Giles said. “So you’ll … you’ll not be going by his room?”

Cordelia gave him a disgusted look. “Oh, yeah, great idea to let me close to Xander right now with all those fluffy smothery pillows handy. No, I don’t think so.” She looked away. “You went to see him, that’s fine. Buffy’ll probably want do that, too, if we can ever _find_ her. Unless I miss my guess, though, that’s it. Willow will stay away because she doesn’t want to hurt Oz any more than she already has … and Xander had better _hope_ Oz doesn’t decide to drop by, ’cause that could get bloody.”

“I don’t, er …” Giles drew a breath. “I don’t believe we need to worry about Oz’s self-control, but I agree he’s unlikely to visit.”

Cordelia sighed, and some of the hardness went out of her. To Giles she said, “So am I a bad person because I want Xander to suffer for this? Want to see him humiliated and ostracized and, I don’t know, cast into the outer darkness like a brain-damaged puppy who’s poo-ed on the Persian carpet?”

Giles couldn’t prevent himself from smiling at the imagery, but then quickly sobered. “He hurt you,” he told her gravely. “Any other issues aside, you have taken a severe blow to your pride, and he has to have known it would have this effect on you. He is answerable for that, but …” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “People … do things, for reasons that sometimes make no sense even to themselves. We know this, and so we try to maintain some, some sense of understanding and balance when it comes to condemnation. All the same, we remain responsible for the choices we make.” He glanced at Cordelia. “So long as you restrict any retaliation to the social and emotional realms, I’d say you’re not … not blackening your soul _too_ badly.”

Cordelia laughed. “As if. Bitch here, and proud of it.”

“I’ll …” Giles cleared his throat again. “I’ll accept your, er, self-valuation. And, and try never to let myself forget it.”

She gave him a flashing smile. “Smart man. Okay, time to hit the halls of Sunnydale High and launch some pre-emptive damage control.”

She left, moving with quick, confident strides. Watching her, Giles shook his head and turned back to his own business.

  
_iii – Amends_

Giles stopped, nonplussed. “Aspen?” he repeated.

“That’s what she said,” Buffy confirmed, nodding. “I mean, I’m all set to spend some time with my dad during the holidays — just not, you know, Christmas Day — and I’ll love getting out of Sauna-dale, but can you imagine going to some place that’s actually _cold?_ And Cordelia just had to rub it in.”

“Yes, well.” Giles put a page marker in the book before him, closed it. There was no denying that Cordelia’s behavior sounded rather petty, but she did have justification for her current estrangement from the core group; besides which, the girl had been perceptive, conscientious, and quick-acting in informing him of the demon Anyanka’s attempts to entice her into making some sort of ill-advised wish utilizing a charmed pendant … “It may be that the unseasonal heat is moving her to, er, obsess on any avenue by which she might escape it. I’ll confess I’d be susceptible to a bit of winter fantasy myself just now.”

Buffy glared at him in vexation. “She’s being _annoying,_ and I’m _annoyed,_ and you are just not helping _at all.”_ Still grousing, she stomped out of the library.

Giles shook his head, opening the book again. Aspen, indeed. The very thought.

…

He hoped Cordelia enjoyed herself.

  
_iv – Gingerbread_

Noise and pain cut through the fuzziness, he was under attack!, he caught his assailant’s wrist and was about to shape for a counterstrike when he recognized the person kneeling above him. “C…Cordelia?” he mumbled, still having trouble making his eyes focus.

“Well, about time,” Cordelia retorted, shaking free of his grip. “Took you long enough to wake up. My hand hurts from all the slapping.”

“Oh, yes. Pity, that.” Giles rubbed his temples. “… Why are you here?”

“Looking for you,” she snapped. “Things are spinning way out of control, Giles. First the shakedown at school, then my mom confiscates my scented candles and all my black clothes — including a little cocktail number that is just _classic —”_ Giles sat up, groggily, as she went on. “You’re usually on top of any bizarro weirdness, but you weren’t at your place, so I came here to tell Buffy and found you all unconscious … _again._ How many times have you been knocked out, anyway?”

His hand brushed against something beside him — ah, his eyeglasses, that explained the blurred vision — and he unfolded them and put them on. “Past a certain point,” he said, “one ceases to keep count.”

“Well, knock it off!” She stood, hands on her hips. “I know you’re Mister Tweedy Overachiever, but enough is enough! I swear, one of these times, you’re gonna wake up in a coma.”

Giles stared at her. “Wake up in a …?” Then he saw it, the fear that had harshened her tone, instantly masked the moment his eyes rested on hers. He pushed himself to his feet. “Never mind. We need to save Buffy from —” He stopped, laughed involuntarily. “From Hansel and Gretel.”

Now she was the one staring. “You’re serious?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Cordelia sighed. “I guess it was too much to hope that was brain damage speaking. God, I just hope the Three Little Pigs never make it this far west.” Then, shaking her head sharply, she said, “Okay, what do we have to do?”

Giles was mostly back by now, but still not yet at full focus. “We … my flat. There will be supplies there that I need. Then find the, the people who have been ensorcelled into a mob …” Concentrate, damn it! “… They’ll have gathered at a public venue, I think. City Hall, the school, perhaps even the playground where the ‘victims’ were found.”

“Right.” Cordelia took his elbow, started for the door. “You’ll have to drive, ’cause my mom took my car keys, too, and I know that clunker of yours has a manual shift, which I can’t do. Just keep reminding yourself that traffic stays on the _right,_ this side of the pond.”

This time it was relief he could hear beneath the barbs. Not that it mattered, the important thing at the moment was action. The situation was dire, but at least now he knew what he was dealing with and what he had to do.

It was fortunate that she’d found him when she had, that she’d taken initiative when it was needed.

To it, then.

  
_v – Helpless_

He looked up when he heard the library door, knew the moment he saw her why she was here. She had been aware of Buffy’s loss of abilities, and he’d been glad she was there the previous night to give the temporarily powerless girl a ride home. Less so now. The trial was past, and he and Buffy had each prevailed in their respective fashions; still, there were consequences, and this was one of them.

Giles remained where he sat, at the table. Cordelia stopped a few feet away, standing, looking down at him. “Is it true?” she asked.

It was a challenge to meet her eyes, but Giles would not permit himself the mercy of looking away. “Yes,” he said. Only the one word; offering no excuse, for there was none to be had.

She stood regarding him for nearly a minute, not speaking. Her face was utterly without expression, her eyes equally unrevealing. 

“She trusted you,” Cordelia said at last, and her voice was as flat as her expression had been. _“Everybody_ trusted you.” Then she turned and walked out, the doors swinging shut behind her.

This was … less acute than the shame Giles had felt when circumstances compelled him to reveal the truth to Buffy. But not by much.

Not by much at all.

  
_vi – the Zeppo_

The SHS quad had some helpful acoustics, if you knew just where to stand and just how to hold your head. Though Cordelia kept herself out of view of the outside lunch table where the others were gathered, she could hear almost everything that was being said, and horror and fury swept through her in alternating waves.

“You could still hear it screaming,” Willow was saying in that little squeaky voice that everybody pretended was so adorable. “Even after the Hellmouth was closed.”

Something from Oz; his lower timbre was harder for her to make out, she kept missing bits. Then, “— Angel’s gonna be okay?”

Cordelia made sure to stay in the shadow of the concrete archway, but in the bright sunshine she could see them all clearly enough, and her expertise in make-up (or the things you’d use it to conceal) unerringly picked out bruises, scratches, steri-strips … come on, the freaking _Slayer_ had her _arm_ in a sling! What did it take to do that?

Whatever had been last night’s action, it wasn’t casual. She’d have known as much from the conversation alone.

“I don’t know how you managed what you did,” Buffy was saying, to _Giles!_ “That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Cordelia didn’t have the right angle to catch Giles’s expression, but she could hear the wryness in his voice. “Stupidest.” (As if it was an either/or proposition!) “But the world continues to turn.”

He’d turned his head toward the others for the last part, and Cordelia saw what looked horribly like claw-marks on his neck. Meaning, inches from death if things had gone just the least bit different. And ‘Hellmouth closing’ meant it had been _open_ for a while, or at least in the process of opening (which she remembered in _way_ too much detail from last year’s Spring Fling, thank you very much!). This was crazy stuff, world-ending stuff … or at least city-destroying stuff. Or stuff that killed people you cared about, who just happened to be the ones always throwing themselves onto the front lines.

She turned and left, heading off at an angle. She wasn’t ready to talk with any of them, couldn’t stand to look at them right now. In her path, though, was Xander, headed for that same table, and he checked for a half-second as he saw her, his face settling into the automatic humor that he used as armor.

Cordelia wasn’t in the mood. She marched straight up to him, stopped. “Something went down last night, didn’t it?” she demanded.

A flicker of surprise showed in Xander’s eyes, but his smile stayed the same. “Sure sounded like it,” he said amiably.

“Uh-huh.” She shook her head, impatient. “And they froze you out, didn’t they?”

Too late, she realized that he would see this as the set-up for a scathing attack, which wasn’t where she was headed at all. If anything, though, the smile broadened. “I guess they just weren’t seeing the need for an emergency doughnut run.”

“Yeah, right.” Okay, enough; she wasn’t ready to forgive, but she was tired of the grudge. “Don’t let them do that to you anymore. We all live in this world; it goes down, we go down. It’s our fight, too, and we’re damn well gonna make them see it.”

Those expressive eyebrows went up, and now his face showed interest as well as humor. “We? You’ve been mostly … fray non-adjacent lately.”

“Maybe, whatever.” Cordelia shook it away. “I’m done with that. And since we’re the only two without superpowers, you and I have to stick together, even when I just want to mash your face into a brick wall.”

Xander’s grin was huge. “Sweet mystery of life, at last I’ve found thee!” Then his face settled into something more serious. “You mean that?”

“You’d better believe it.” Cordelia made her mouth relax. “Don’t get any ideas; there is no you-and-me anymore, you killed that stone-cold dead and it’s never coming back. But I mean it that we backstop each other to keep the rest from sticking us on the sidelines, because that crap is _over.”_

“Well,” Xander said, nodding. “All right, then.”

“All right, then,” Cordelia repeated, and walked away, her face showing nothing and her mind shaping itself for war.

  
_vii – Doppelgängland_

Giles was staring. “He … whinnied?” he repeated.

Cordelia nodded firmly. “Don’t know what else you’d call the sound he made,” she said. “I mean, it didn’t actually sound like a horse, but I’ve never heard anything like it outside a comedy movie. Giles, you _have_ to get him trained up, he’s one of the crew now whether you like it or not, and he needs to be brought up to speed!”

The response was a short, sharp laugh. “Wesley believes himself to be trained already, and is certainly not inclined to receive instruction from me.” He set his teacup down on the library counter. “Nor am I inclined to waste my time on the attempt; I rather doubt he’s worth the effort.”

Cordelia shook her head. “I know how he comes across, but he did save me from Vamp­Slut­Willow. I mean, I kind of suspect we’d have been toast if she’d really wanted us, but she _did_ want to kill me, and he kept that from happening … and, let’s be fair, he let out that sound when I tapped him on the shoulder _after_ he forced her away with a cross. I think there might be some potential there … plus, like I said, he’s already here, so we might as well get good use out of him.”

“He would be infuriated,” Giles mused, “if he could hear us discussing him in this fashion. And mortified at the thought that a high school girl considered herself a veteran, and the trained Watcher a novice who so grievously needed mentoring.”

She shrugged at that, and her face was defiant. “So am I wrong?”

“Not at all,” Giles replied. “Not in either category. You have … blossomed, in a role I would have expected you to scorn.”

“I tried to, believe me,” Cordelia said grimly. “The whole saving-the-world thing just sucks you in.”

He smiled. “And yet, in my experience, many find it not at all difficult to disregard the call.” His expression settled. “You are aware that he, er … that he is beginning to look upon you with …?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s feeling the magic, all right.” Cordelia sighed. “And I’m _not,_ but if I just cut him off cold, we lose any leverage we might get from him mooning over me.”

That brought a lifted eyebrow. “You would, would take advantage of a rather adolescent infatuation, in someone you have no intention of ever allowing as close as he might wish to be?”

“To get him to where he can actually contribute something?” Her expression was petulant but determined. “I absolutely will. I’ve done worse, and we both know it.”

Giles looked away, his thoughts distant behind a distant gaze. “We are facing … crises,” he said at last. “We find ourselves needing to prioritize our efforts to the most necessary matters. If Wesley could truly bring something positive to the table … but getting him to that point would be difficult, and tedious.” He looked to her. “The only way I would attempt it — even assuming your assessment of his potential is accurate — would be as a joint effort. Specifically, you and I working with him together.”

Cordelia nodded, her eyes cynical. “You mean, you showing him the ropes while I coo admiringly over how he’s throwing himself into the job here? Yes, I can do that. I’ll want to take a shower afterward, every time, but I can do it.” Her mouth made a bitter twist. “This is me, sacrificing for the cause.”

Giles dismissed that with a quick gesture. “You may be flippant and self-denigrating about it, but I wouldn’t participate in something of this nature unless I saw the merits. If this is worth doing, then let us do it.” He shrugged, glancing away from her. “And, who knows, you might eventually find yourself considering him … worthy of your affections, after all.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Cordelia said, shaking her head. “But I’m not holding my breath on that one, and I wouldn’t advise it for you, either.”

  
_viii – Earshot_

Cordelia was no idiot. As soon as she found out about the telepathy thing, she took _measures._ She focused hard on every thought and then forced the same thought while saying it aloud; then, at the first opportunity, she absented herself from the group meeting as promptly as she could without _looking_ like she was fleeing. After that … well, Snyder had “Walk Like an Egyptian” stuck in his head? fine, that offered possibilities, and she spent the rest of the day internally cycling an endless loop of “Livin’ la Vida Loca” (because this one was an earworm that _would not_ go away). Mostly, though, it was just steering clear of mind-reading Buffy —

And then it was all over. Angel cut out the demon’s heart and fed it to Buffy (call it a late Valentine’s Day gift, perfectly routine for the Hellmouth), and just like that, invasive trespassy psychic powers were gone. Plus the school not-quite-assassin got thwarted _and_ Jonathan was prevented from killing himself. It was a good day all around, not least because Jonathan hadn’t been the only one who had dodged a bullet.

Then, the next morning, Cordelia saw Giles and Buffy walking together across the SHS campus; saw the Slayer say something, and the Watcher walk straight into a tree, and knew in that instant that she just hadn’t _heard_ the bullet because you never hear the one that kills you.

She went immediately to the library. She’d be late to her first class, but that was the least of her worries right now. Giles came in, moving a bit like a sleep­walker, and stopped when he saw her, his gaze sharpening. “Yes?” he said.

Cordelia didn’t trouble herself with preliminaries. “Buffy saw something,” she said. “While she was all Saturn Girl.”

“Yes,” Giles said, nodding. “She did.”

Crap. She’d known, _she’d known,_ but still she had hoped … “Okay. How bad?”

For some insane reason, Giles was smiling; strained, but a smile all the same. “You needn’t, needn’t concern yourself.”

“Really?” Mouth set in a hard line, Cordelia advanced on him. “Because I  _am_ concerned. I am _troubled,_ I am _anxious,_ I am _**totally freaking the hell out here!”**_

Giles shook his head slowly, the smile crimping into something rueful. “What she saw was, er … was something from her mother’s mind, not mine.”

… Which made less than no sense at all. “Her mother? But, but _you_ were the one who practically did a pratfall when you heard it.” Cordelia scrambled for some sort of mental equilibrium. “So, what, did Buffy find out her mother has all kinds of horny mom-aged sex fantasies about you —?”

Giles sighed. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

Cordelia was not in the mood, but she sat down. Giles took a seat on the other side of the table. “Before being cured of her telepathy,” he said carefully, “Buffy chanced to discover that, that her mother and I had, during the night of the band candy incident, been … reckless.”

Cordelia stared. “The band candy night.”

Giles nodded. “Yes.”

 _“… That_ night.”

He did not — quite — wince. “Yes.”

“You and Buffy’s mother.”

“Yes.”

“And ‘reckless’ meaning —?”

He drew a deliberate breath. “Yes.”

Cordelia felt like one of the Ghostbusters, walloped by the StayPuft Marsh­mallow Man: a vast, diffuse impact of incomparable softness and awful, annihilating force. “That … I guess that would have been while the three of you were tracking down Ethan Rayne, and then flambéeing the big snake in the sewers.”

“No, before.” Giles sighed again. “Buffy chanced across her mother and me after we had …” He coughed. “… afterward … and took us along on the search because she feared to leave us alone together.” He made a little shrug. “Her worries on that account, while eminently justified, were … tardy.”

The world was spinning. “And … since then … you and Joyce?”

“No.” Giles shook his head emphatically. “No, she and I have done our utmost to, to behave as if the events of that night had never occurred. We have … responsibilities, and those responsibilities would be compromised if we allowed ourselves to be caught up in what ultimately was a, a regrettable aberration.” Another sigh. “We were neither entirely blameless nor entirely innocent — I sincerely intend to kill Ethan for that someday — but we have endeavored to do our best in the roles we are still called upon to play.”

Cordelia thought about it. None of this was real, it was _unreal,_ but she could force her mind to recognize the shape of it even so. “Responsibilities,” she said.

“You have … already shown some understanding of the concept,” Giles observed gravely.

Cordelia felt like she was about to vomit. She made herself focus elsewhere. “So, Buffy’s okay? I mean, she doesn’t intend to kill you or even fire you?”

The small, wry smile returned. “No promises were made,” he said. “But I did get the sense that, er, that she was satisfied with simply letting me know that she knew.”

“All right.” Cordelia stood up. “All right, then.”

Giles stood as well. “I recognize that there are, are elements in this matter that you might —”

“No,” Cordelia said. “No, I’m good. I’m fine. It’s all fine here.”

She walked out of the library. Maybe he was saying something behind her. She didn’t know.

  
_ix – Graduation_

Everyone was alive.

Yes, very well, not ‘everyone’. There had been fatalities, too many of them, but the casualty list had not included anyone whose loss would have made Giles feel that a part of him had died as well. They had been inordinately fortunate. _He_ had been blessed, beyond fortune, in finding himself surrounded by these remarkable people, and infinitely more blessed in seeing them come through this day unscathed.

It was late. He was tired. Even after the greatest threat (the newly Ascended mayor) had been ended, there were still lesser crises demanding attention: triage of the wounded and dead; defense against and hunting of those vampires who had chosen to linger in the vicinity in hope of opportune prey; even the mundane calming of traumatized parents, and coordination with police and emergency personnel, and endless promises of cooperation with the official inquiries that would inevitably ensue … They had all labored long, and it had been a strenuous day even before the necessary ‘follow-up’ duties. Giles was more than ready to go to his rest, rejoicing in the survival of those who mattered most to him —

— one of whom, he saw, was waiting at the door to his flat.

He nodded to her as he approached and brought out his key. Cordelia returned the nod, standing to one side. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, and she followed him without waiting for invitation (for there wouldn’t be one, that was a habit deeply ingrained in them all by now). Giles let out his breath, in weariness and satisfaction; then, after a moment, he said, “I thought I would fix myself some tea; one mustn’t neglect the stereotype, after all. Would you like some as well?”

“Sure,” Cordelia said, and collapsed into one of his armchairs. “Or if you wanted to pour up something stronger, I’d be good with that, too.”

His smile was indulgent. “You’re still not of legal drinking age, you know.”

That brought a shrug. “Uh-huh, ’cause we’re all about sticking with the rules.”

In a different tone of voice, that could have been distinctly foreboding, but Cordelia had actually said it with light amusement. Giles finished preparing the tea, placed her cup before her on the small table, and sat across from her with his own.

“It’s all different now,” Cordelia said without preamble.

“Yes,” Giles agreed, maintaining the relaxed smile. “What you’re feeling is post-battle euphoria; you should be familiar with it, by now.”

“Yeah, it is, and yeah, I am.” Cordelia tested her tea, gingerly, blew on it a few times to cool it, took a cautious sip. “But that wasn’t what I meant.” She looked up. “I’m not a student anymore. Neither is Buffy, so you don’t have to stay on the school staff anymore to be close to her. It’s all different now.”

“Ah,” Giles said, nodding. “Yes, you’re … quite correct there.”

“My father has been indicted for tax fraud,” Cordelia went on, seeming to jump subjects. “I know you probably didn’t know anything about that, so I’m filling you in on the latest. Right now, it’s up in the air whether he’ll go to prison or skip the country; he and I don’t talk much these days, so I really don’t know. And my mother’s in and out of rehab, which soaks up all _her_ trust money. I’ve been working at a dress shop for the last few months just so I could afford my formal for prom, and I kept at it afterward to save up enough money to take off for L.A. once I’d graduated.” She set down her cup, looked at Giles. “For the record, that last part is Plan B, because I’d rather stay.”

Giles sighed. “Cordelia —”

She pushed ahead, insistent. “I’ve been good, Giles. I stuck to the way it had to be, you can’t fault me there. But I said it before and I’ll say it again: everything’s different now.”

“Many things are,” he admitted. “But not all.” He shook his head. “Cordelia, I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know that.” She waved it away. “The morning after band candy, when I woke up in your bed, and turned over to smile at you and you looked back at me with this … _horror —”_ She broke off, took another sip of tea, went on again. “I knew, right then and there. Knew how it was, what you had to do, which also meant what _I_  had to do.” Her gaze was steady on his. “You couldn’t desert your duty, and banging one of your students — assuming you’d want to keep doing it, but this is me so of _course_ you’d want to — would blow that clear out of the water if anybody ever found out, and you couldn’t take the risk. You didn’t want to hurt me, but you were about to do exactly that, and you were going to hate yourself for it.” She shrugged, her manner rigidly matter-of-fact. “Which is why I gave you my chipperest _Thanks, that was fun, can I use your shower real quick? ’cause I still have to make it to school on time._ Giving you an out, whether you bought my act or not.”

The smile Giles produced was twisted, ironic. “I didn’t … didn’t know what I wanted to believe. If it was a pose, then I  _had_ hurt you and you were simply attempting to save face. If you were truly so nonchalant about it all …” He sighed. “That would have been a huge relief, and yet would have made you appear … less.”

“Uh-huh.” Cordelia shrugged again. “And better you think I was a big ol’ ho than you go all noble and guilt-ridden over deflowering the head cheerleader.” She looked up to him suddenly. “Which, on that subject? no complaints. People always warn you that the first time can be really disappointing, but I was not disappointed _at all.”_

Giles suppressed a groan. “I think we may have … strayed from the central issue here,” he said faintly.

“Yeah, well, we’ve got one more stray to round up before we get back to basics.” Her voice had turned sharp. “Finding out I was your _second_ squeeze on band candy night — especially remembering that I’d been cheating on Xander when I did it — that one hit me hard, I won’t deny it. You saw that, you were ready to sit down with me and face the music. And I wasn’t, so I had to figure out a way to work through it on my own. Which was to remind myself that … that Ripper may have got me into bed, but he didn’t steal my heart or anything. He just showed me what might be there in the Giles who _wasn’t_ whacked-out on anarchy and rebellion and locoweed with a Hellmouth chaser.” She brought her eyes back to his. “So I got back on track, because we still had an apocalypse we had to spank.”

Giles smiled. “Your behavior in the past several months has been … exemplary. Admirable, even. That would not make a proposed affiliation between us any less, er, problematic.”

“Nope. But like I already said, things are different now.” Cordelia spoke evenly. “Before, it would have been impossible, it would have been a  _disaster._ Now, it’s just … maybe not a very good idea. Maybe.”

Giles relaxed in his chair, as if the matter had become, if not quite settled, rather less urgent. “I’ll agree that we have moved outside the realm of … immediately catastrophic. There still remains the fact that you are, are younger than my oldest niece.” He let out a brief laugh. “The daughter of my _younger_ sister, at that.”

“Yep,” Cordelia agreed. “And I don’t care. So now what?”

  
_x – the Freshman_

Approaching the door to Giles’s apartment, Buffy was still trying to decide whether she was overreacting. The business of the missing students really did sound like something that needed to be looked into, but she knew that normally she would have wanted to check it out some more herself before bringing this to Giles. Was she using this as an excuse? reaching out for support and reassurance, just because college was more of a challenge than she’d expected?

That would just be so pathetic. The Slayer, blooded in combat with vampires and demons and werewolves and hell-hounds, survivor of death-spells and ghost-possession and even face-offs against _two_ other Slayers, getting all whiny because ‘college is hard’? No; she wouldn’t whine, she’d be totally professional. She had coped with worse than this, much worse, she’d find a way and later she’d laugh at herself over how silly she’d been. Still, it would be good to see her Watcher again now that summer was done. However much everything else might change, Giles was a steady, comforting constant —

The door was unlocked, which meant Giles was in, and Buffy knocked while pushing it open … but the sound was lost in a familiar voice calling, “Giles, did you ever go by the Greek market? I told you we were running low on yogurt, and I am _not_ gonna settle for Yoplait from 7-Eleven.”

Cordelia. Cordelia, wearing a long-sleeved men’s shirt, haphazardly buttoned (pinstripe, Buffy noted numbly) and apparently not a whole lot else. She turned from the refrigerator, stopping as she caught sight of Buffy, just as Giles appeared from the direction of the downstairs bedroom in what looked horribly like a dressing gown straight from Playboy Mansion. He stared at Buffy. Cordelia stared at Buffy. Buffy felt her eyeballs vibrating as she tried to stare at both of them on different sides of the room.

Then Cordelia broke into a bright smile, shifting to put a hand on one hip (which somehow showed a  _lot_ more cleavage, _oh God_ **please** _strike me blind!_ ), and said cheerfully, “Hey, Buffy! I guess summer vacation’s over, huh? So what’s new?”

   
end


End file.
